


City of the Rising Sun

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Ancient Greece, Bonding, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Greece, Greek gods, Humor, M/M, Naked Castiel, Sexual Humor, Some angst, Sun God, That's a Fun Time, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 03:11:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15161225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: "Unless you have another set of eyes, Apollo, you've been smoking in Khloris' meadow.""And you eating the funny fruits in her daughter's garden. And you know you just admitted to gazing your eyes upon me, right?"Cas’s mouth imitates something between a scoff and a sigh. “This is going to be a long trip.""More of an excuse for you to look at me,” Dean retorts, batting his spherical meadows at Cas."Dean, I will feed you to the horses."





	City of the Rising Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you thank you THANK YOU to one of my bffs, asexualcas, or as I know them, Bri, for the mythology knowledge, the encouragement, and most importantly for your eyes' sake, the beta. Love you lots, *Jensen voice* buddy.
> 
> Okay, enough commas, more dramas.

It’s not a figure of speech to say Cas has the sun at his back every morning.

But it’s not too bad. Most days, his shifts are only twelve hours before Sam pulls up in his chariot, the moon in tow.

But sometimes, the days grow stubborn. They want nothing to do with Sam’s company. So Cas must work two, three, as long as four hours longer, seven days a week. After all, summertime is rich with mirth. The water has to be warm, as not to jar the cicadas and dragonflies dropping in for an afternoon quench.  The crops have to flourish to supply food for the people and fun for the children running around in the fields, playing Zeus and Hera, chasing each other with lightning bolts made from corn stocks. (When their children aren’t being sacrificed _for_ the growth of their crops, that is… some people can be so impatient.) And, arguably the most important in a city that turns its nose on poverty, provide warmth to the commoners.

Cas is one of the only people capable of delivering the sun across Athens with his chariot. Well… rather _appointed_ than capable. Apollo, his tour guide and one of Zeus’ less violent sons despite the whole Python situation (a monster killed by Apollo unleashed by Zeus’ cheated late wife; that is before he swallowed her so she couldn’t spite him by bringing in another son as strong-willed as Apollo on the possibility of him usurping Zeus… Cas never quite understood that family), is a man of many gifts himself. Not only is he the founder of the Pythian Games, he is the prophet and truth-bearer of Mount Olympus, the best poet and musician in Athens, and, perhaps the most important role: the lightbringer for a war-threatened Athens.

So, naturally, when he heard Hyperion’s son, Cas, the Sun God of River Okeanos, was born, he kept close tabs on him. He waited until Cas’s son Jack, known widely as Phaethon, was born–who, despite doubts about himself, reluctantly took on his father’s task of guiding the sun across their hometown–and until the threat of Erebus was too great to bare alone.  It would take not one, but two lightbringers to cast out the darkness known also as Amara. Dean not only needs the extra manpower to defeat her, but moreover someone there to provide sunlight to Athens should he die in battle.

Which brings them here, as it has been since that fateful day Dean adopted Cas into his life. Cas driving his chariot. Dean riding shotgun. The sun _should_ be above Cas, but instead is unfairly hanging like a halo above _Dean’s_ head, casting a dark but far from sinister shadow over his bronze, freckled skin—the way candlelight emphasizes each dip and curve of the room its illuminating.

Cas’s father refers to freckles as angel kisses. That having freckles, he says, is a formal blessing from the holy messengers themselves. Cas just can’t understand how freckles are a blessed thing. Sure, they look good on Dean. Of _course_ they look good on him. Dean could be wearing his chlamys around his waist like an apron, and he would create a new trend around Mount Olympus. (Then again, like his father, Dean is as promiscuous as he is immodest, so he would likely reverse it so his cock hang proud.)

However, these freckles… they smother his beautiful skin. They’re everywhere; on his nose, trickling and spilling over his cheeks, even his robust arms. Almost half his body, spotted. All because angels are selfish and want to steal as much beauty as they can.

Selfish angels and their selfish ways.

But he can’t really blame them.

As much as Dean infuriates him at times with his cockiness, Cas has long-since wanted to leave his own trail of kisses on virgin territory.

Pulling him from his highly unprofessional thoughts are his trusty steeds, whinnying and sighing through their fat noses as they tug on Cas’s reins. “What now?” he gripes. “Don’t tell me you have to urinate again. You especially, Pyrois, this is the fifth time in two hours, I’m not—”

“Cas!” Dean hisses, gripping Cas’s wrist. “Shh! Do you hear that?”

Cas stops as the bushes to the right of them start rustling. Slowly, he reaches for his sword, his grip steady. Unhurried, but far from trusting. Even a place as beautiful as this, with its massive trees and thick, arm-like branches and dense hedges are advantages for pickpocketers and—“ _Wait!”_

Dean lowers his bow and arrow as a rabbit scurries across the path. He breathes a sigh of relief. He’s even laughing—this deep, breathy sound that’s the bane of Cas’s crotch.

Cas throws down his reins with a humorless exhale. The simple action hurts his chest, but he brushes it off as muscle tension. "Why couldn't I invent something more efficient?” he asks, opening and closing his achy fists. “Like a chariot with wings. Perhaps it could fly. That would certainly save you your job."

"Well I, for one, happen to enjoy my job,” Dean replies, amid wiping away tears.

"Yes, so you can flaunt your physique, right?”

"The commoners can't look at me long, for they go blind."

"The _sun_ is what blinds them," Cas corrects. "They look too long, they'll start seeing spots."

"They would see spots behind their eyes if they were allowed a few minutes with me."

Cas rolls his eyes.

Dean takes notice, because he nudges him. "Your modesty is unnecessary, Helios. I've seen your eyes trickle over my golden stature many times."

"Unless you have another set of eyes, Apollo, you've been smoking in Khloris' meadow."

"And _you_ eating the funny fruits in her daughter's garden. And you know you just admitted to gazing your eyes upon me, right?"

Cas’s mouth imitates something between a scoff and a sigh. “This is going to be a long trip."

"More of an excuse for you to look at me,” Dean retorts, batting his spherical meadows at Cas.

"Dean, I _will_ feed you to the horses."

  
  


“How about you some music?”

Cas turns his head to Dean tiredly, a substitute for verbally expressing his disdain. One of the downsides of riding with a world-class musician is hearing about music _every hour on the hour._ He doesn’t know why Dean tries when, somewhere within the first dozen times Dean brought up the topic of music, Cas broke his flute.

Cas doesn’t have anything against music. Really. He just doesn’t understand why Dean would want to add noise on top of the music that’s already playing. It’s faint, but it’s there if you listen. It’s the trees and bushes rustling against one another to the whistling wind, waving a gentle hello as the two pass. It’s the rocks crunching, breaking into fragmented offspring known as peebles beneath the wheels of his chariot. It’s the birds in the distance, singing a passionate ballad to their loved ones across the sky.

It’s all there, Earth’s lullaby—the perfect medicine to the looming headache knocking like a woodpecker against his sweating skull.

 _“_ _As long as you live,_

_shine forth do not at all grieve,_

_Life exists for a short while,_

_Time takes its course!_

[Sing it with me](https://www.historyanswers.co.uk/ancient/listen-to-the-oldest-known-song-in-ancient-greek/), Cas! _”_

 

Cas sighs as his temple twitches.

Only Dean has the kind of talent to jumpstart a migraine.

  
  


Dean’s like a snake, ready to shed his own skin the way he jumps when Cas exclaims, “Dean, look!”

(And, frankly, he doesn’t care. Dean’s had his round of torture on Cas today. It’s Cas’s turn.)

“Oh my Gods, don’t tell me you’re looking at the–”

“Flowers!” he intercepts, causing Dean to nod and roll his eyes. “Look at all of them! Bougainvilleas, asphodels, daffodils… and…”

Cas stops. Dean, who’s busy pursing his lips, even softens his features in concern. “And?” he pleads, eyeing him. “Cas, are you alright?”

“I, um….” Cas shakes his head, sending a shooting pain up his neck. _“Agh_ , I… yeah, I don’t recall the fourth kind of flower. Nonetheless, it’s a rare sight to see them all growing in one place. I wonder how Chloris managed this.”

“Maybe she was bored.”

It’s Cas’s turn to purse his lips. “You know, for a god of sunlight, you could possess a little more appreciation for the things you help create.”

“Sorry, hold on,” Dean apologizes lamely before languidly directing his  gaze at the flowerbed. He consumes all of a few seconds before turning back to Cas. “Okay, I’ve appreciated them.”

Cas scoffs before hopping off the chariot, “You are such an ass. Now help me collect them for my flower crowns.”

  
  


“Cas… Cas, hey!”

Cas jolts awake with Poseidon’s cool liquid draped over his… naked body?

“Wha… what happened? Why am I wet?” he asks, looking out over the still, shimmering waters he recognizes as Lake Galene before snapping his head to Dean. His hand is still beneath Cas’s neck, propping him up. His chlamys is dripping, clinging to whatever skin it can. “Why are you wet?”

And for someone who’s almost equally as exposed as he, Dean chuckles, “You had me worried there, Helios. And your guess is as fair as mine.” He allows Cas to sit up on his own as he hands him a goblet with sparkling water. “One moment you’re driving your wooden booby trap, the next, you fall into a temporary slumber. And you’re usually hot, but you were burning up. It was as if the sun burst into flames.”

“The sun!” Cas exclaims, shooting his head around in search of the chariot. It’s still light out, but not by much. “Dean, where’s the sun?!”

“The chariot’s fine, Sam’s watching over it.”

“Sam?” Cas asks with furrowed brows. “But… the end of my shift is not nigh! The sun can’t settle this early!”

“It can and it shall,” Dean insists, digging his hand into his shoulder, forcing Cas to look at him. “Helios, you’ve brought enough warmth to Athens. It is time for you to share some of that warmth with yourself.”

“Dean, please—”

“No, no,” Dean insists, “I am not risking your life on account of my own selfishness. This is my war to fight, not yours.”

“Dean, don’t be foolish–”

“No, you are foolish!” yells Dean as he pulls back, words causing even the grass to tremble beneath them as his body flares bright yellow.

Cas swallows what little water is keeping his throat moist. He knows of Apollo’s powers, but he’s never been afraid of him until now, with his voice channeling that of his father’s thunderous rage.

Except, unlike his father, Dean doesn’t raise his voice to intimidate, or to gain power.

“Cas,” he sighs, queuing the power down of his body’s seething glow, “please, you cannot keep wearing yourself thin. Let me take over the chariot for a few days. I can handle it.”

He does it because he’s scared.

Cas nods.

“Are you faring any better?”

Cas looks over at Dean, pauses, and then says, with a small laugh, “I will be once you stop gawking at my physique.”

“Oh please,” Dean scoffs with a small smile as he stands up, “it is you that imagines such delusions.”

“At least admit you wanted to see me naked.”

And damn the light not shining on them at that moment, because Cas swears he can see Dean’s face, freckles and all, morph into that of a strawberry. “I believe my cockiness has rubbed off on you.”

“Or perhaps your cock needs rubbing against my—”

“Okay, alright, your point has been made,” Dean interrupts before lending out his hand. “Now, do you need my help getting up or are you too cocky for that as well?”

Cas shakes his head as he looks out at the vast lake. He doesn’t admire the beauty in the sun setting so evenly on the horizon nearly as much as he should. He's always too busy providing the scenery for someone else.

After a moment, he smiles up at Dean and says, “Actually, I think I would fancy us sitting here for a while. If you’re up for it.”

Dean’s eyes widen, and when his lips stretch into a slow smile, Cas has to admit: He loves the way his freckles dance across his cheeks.

 

 

  



End file.
